Imaginarium
by Rahar Moonfire
Summary: Years ago, Magnus Bane's fiancé, Camille Belcourt, left him for another man taking her everything from the Downworlders Company and joined The Shadow Hunters troupe which is slowly driving Magnus's home, family, and livelihood into the ground. A stroke of luck gives him prodigy Clary Fray and a meeting with a blue eyed boy from a rival cirque troupe gives him hope and perhaps love.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** I am a horrible person and have got to stop this constant influx of story ideas. Inspired by this song: _Imagniaerum_ by Nightwish. I literally listened to this song on loop while I wrote in one sitting. It could be a oneshot but I'll probably continue it.

* * *

 **Imaginarium**

* * *

 **1: Prologue**

She remembered the anticipation of sitting in the darkness, the silence. It was as if the entire audience had been holding their collective breaths, waiting, hoping, for the story to unfold. Then the music started and the watchers released their pent up tension in favor of the tingle of excitement. The in-house band and micro-orchestra filled the atmosphere with a melody that set the stage for the tale to be told.

The Downworlders Company was a local phenomenon that was steadily gaining popularity outside of her hometown. They combined characteristics of the cirque with music by local artists which gave the community a much appreciated boost in tourism. They were known for their clever and creative adaptations of fairy tales, old and new, popular and little known. That night, they were presenting a version of the _Twelve Dancing Princesses_ by the Brothers Grimm, one of her favorite fairtales of all time.

Her childish eyes were focused firmly on the elegant figure wrapped securely in two long strands of blood red silk descending gracefully from the ceiling. The curtain lining the far wall was backlit by the same garnet light which steadily faded to orange and yellow mimicking a sunrise. The silk aerialist's form was dark, a living shadow sliding between the silk strands like water flowing over moss. The movements oozed a sensuality that she, at her then young age, was just beginning to understand.

The false sunrise began to illuminate the aerialist's lithe body, revealing him to the audience of voyeurs. His sun-kissed skin gleamed in the warm glow sparkling with the faintest hint of glitter on his skin and dusted in his hair. Streaks of golden blonde peaked out from his short, ebony locks which was gelled up and soft in appearance like the feathers of a raven's wing. His eyes were an inhuman gold, the pupils slited like a cat's. They were emphasized by heavy kohl and eyeshadow, giving him a mystical feel. A single, oval jewel the same shade of red as the false sunrise burned at the center of his forehead surrounded by gold leaf on his skin that created the illusion of a circlet disappearing into his dark hairline.

She recognized him from the show's program she'd borrowed from her mother before the lights went down. He was The Warlock, the sorcerer whom the princesses beg to allow them to dance forever. Little did they know such a spell was twofold. The princesses could dance every night in his enchanted realm from sundown to sunrise, but only as long as they kept their nightly escapades a secret from the world. Anyone who tried to follow them and break the spell were captured by The Warlock's magical web and ensorcelled to remain behind in his hidden realm, never to see the outside world or speak of what they had seen.

"Nothing is without its price," she breathed.

The character description of The Warlock in the program reverberating in her mind. The princesses kept their vow to The Warlock in a twisted fashion. Any man who came seeking to solve the mystery of the princesses' worn out dance shoes in an effort to receive the hand of one of them in marriage as reward was taken with them to The Warlock's enchanted realm and bespelled by him to prevent them from escaping and revealing the princesses' secret. This secret they shared with The Warlock, this mutual reliance, this contract was signed and sealed in blood.

Most little girls who watched the performance probably thought the Warlock was the enemy, but she didn't. She didn't feel anger or the desire to see The Warlock defeated. When she watched The Warlock's performance that night, she saw a lover like the ones she read about in books or saw in numerous paintings in museums. She had watched him and felt, not sad just melancholy. She had felt like there was something missing, but she couldn't put her finger on what.

The false sunrise became daylight and The Warlock's glittering outfit of garnet and black hugged his form like fire. It followed his movements like flames licking his body. She knew now it was a foreshadowing of his death in the finale. The Warlock hailed the start of the tale in a burning sunrise and would end it in the blaze of devouring flames with a corresponding sunset. His story was tragic and held her attention much more than the love story between the Eldest Princess and The Hunter turned 'rescuer' and prince.

At the time, she could almost sense a budding love story between The Warlock and the Eldest Princess. The way his golden cat-eyes followed the Eldest Princess as she flew delicately through the air after being tossed up by The Hunter on the trapeze hinted at something more than just a captor observing his prey. She found herself watching The Warlock closely and detected a hint of anger, sadness, pain... Betrayal. She had seen betrayal in his eyes.

It was then she realized The Warlock had been in love with the Eldest Princess and she had either never known or simply refused to requite his feelings. A heavy pain settled on her shoulders then as The Warlock tangled himself in his lonely silk embrace and danced to the music. She swire later she had seen a tear fall from his eyes as the character observed the princesses flee the crumbling realm he'd made especially for them at their wish, all because they broke the one rule he gave them. She had watched his heart crumble to dust with his realm and still he danced in silk until sunrise, alone.

Only then had he stepped into the light of day. It struck her then that this was the first time she had ever seen The Warlock in the false daylight of the stage lights. Until now, he had always appeared from dusk till dawn. Yet there he was. Finally, she could see him fully. He was beautiful.

She remembered watching him glide down the two blood red silk strands until his feet brushed the raised platform that served as the princesses home where their father The King lived for the first time during the entire show. She had wanted to scream, to beg him to get back on the silk, back into the sky where he was free. But her voice never could come. It had caught in her throat, too entangled with a sob to form actual words.

She remembered watching, heart aching, as The Warlock approached The Hunter and The King, demanding reparations for the broken contract that had been signed freely by both sides. He would receive none. The King had The Hunter arrest him. The Warlock fought but she could see in her memory how every movement was The Warlock made had been slow, weighed down by betrayal and a broken heart. With little resistance, The Hunter had taken The Warlock by the throat and tossed him into an abyss that glowed red from the all too real flames flickering over the rim.

Only then did she remember a tear slipping silently down her cheek. She knew now what The Warlock had been missing during his first performance, during all of his performances: a partner. He was always alone. He danced around the other characters, never with them.

She remembered the lights begin the darken, heralding an oncoming sunset. The Hunter and the Eldest Princess performed a duet trapeze act together, eventually joined by the rest of the cast minus The Warlock celebrating their love. She could not remembering feeling the love. Her heart had been too busy drowning in pain for one who had only wanted love and gotten death instead. The lights went dark, reflecting her heart.

She had refused to clap until The Warlock stepped onto the platform for his turn to bow. Then she stood and clapped and screamed. She would always love the story, she would always love the show, but her heart would always love the character of The Warlock the best. She never forgot that performance.

The scandal broke a few months later. It turned out that the trapeze artist who played the Eldest Princess had been engaged to the silk aerialist who played The Warlock. Without an forewarning, she up and ran off with the performer who played The Hunter taking her considerable share in the Downworlders Company with her. Journalista believed the silk aerialist had suspected his fiancé of having an affair for at least two months prior to when she left but had not called her on it. He was subsequently left broken hearted and the Downworlders Company becane but destitute without the financial and attendence support the trapeze artist garnered. It struggled to keep its head afloat in the years that followed. The silk aerialist stayed with the Company throughout everything, sinking his money and hard work into the troupe that served as a surrogate family.

That was four years ago. She never forgot that heartfelt performance. In face, she had decided that very day that she would become an acrobat and join the Downworlders Company.

Two years later, the trapeze artist joined an up and coming cirque company that was the Downworlders' direct competitor, The Shadow Hunters. They specialized in death defying stunts, spectacular special effects, holographic imaging, as well as high tech lighting and equipment. They were drawing an ever increasing number of young people to their performances, greatly hindering the still struggling Downworlders Company.

She knew she would have a better chancs with The Shadow Hunters. Maybe she could even have a permanent career with them. But every time she considered joining them, she remembered the betrayed expression on The Warlock's face during that fateful show of the _Twelve Dancing Princesses_. The memory always served to reaffirm her desire to join the Downworlders. She knew they couldn't afford to pay her much but she wanted the job bad enough that she was willing to volunteer to get it.

When her parents divorced when she was little, she went with her mother and her brother went with her father. She knew the pain of broken love. She saw it every day on her mother's face when her brother was mentioned. She never wanted anyone else to experience that. She would join the Downworlders and do her best to bring it back to the competitive stage.

That was how she found herself standing at the foot of the ticketing office of the Downworlders Company. _The Imaginarium_ , the home stage of the Company, stood just behind the tiny office. This was the big day. Today she would find out whether her dreams of joining the Downworlders would be realized or crushed. She refused to go down in flames. She would burn brightly. This was her dream. It was all she ever wanted.

She took a deep breath and stepped into the office.

"Good afternoon Miss Fray," a kind voice belonging to the Downworlders Company owner said.

This would be her home.


	2. A Little Fall in a Little Town

**A/N:** And as of tomorrow, classes for this semester will be over. Now that I have this posted, I can buckle down and finish my final paper due tomorrow over not one, not two, but three different but related airplane incidents, two of which ended in crashes that killed everyone on board. Yay fpr death and destruction. Now you understand why I wrote this. I needed a little light and fluff in my life right now.

 **Chapter summary:** In which Clary falls, Ragnor is mortified, Alaric snores, and Cape Idris is quaint.

* * *

 **2: A Little Fall in a Little Town**

Her heart pounded in her chest when the light warmed her face and body. Her leotard and leggings clung to her like a soft second skin. The air around her was still, stirred only by her movement. This was the moment she had worked so hard for. This was the defining point of her relationship.

Clary launched herself from the platform, tucking her knees to her chin and flipping backwards twice before extending her body, hands open with finger spread. A pair of dark hands clasped her own and together both acrobats swung across the expanse of the stage. Clary used her forward motion to propel herself up onto the trapeze bar.

Her partner, Elias Dao, remained hanging upside down with his ankles securely hooked on the joints where the bar and cables met on the trapeze. He glided along gracefully with the backswing until they neared the highest point and their pendulum motion slowed right before changing directions to swing the other way. He allowed himself to ride the force of inertia, arching his back and reached behind him as far as he could so Clary could catch his hand once more.

She used her body strength anchored by the trapeze cable to remain stationary so Elias could use his grip on her to steady himself. He slipped one of his feet over the trapeze bar so one foot was on either side of the bar in a precarious balancing act. He curved his body in a smooth arch, tossing his head back at the apex of their swing.

Then the trapeze plunged the opposite direction and he spun, pulling himself upright on the bar close to Clary. They stood still, chest to chest on the moving trapeze. Clary's long ginger hair pulled back in a braided ponytail blew over his shoulder, the strands teasing his cheek. Time seemed to stand still as they rode up to the trapeze to the other side of the expanse.

Clary placed a hand on Elias chest and tilted her head back as if to kiss him. She leaned forward into what she expected was a loving embrace, a tender smile on her face. But Elias' eyes hardened and his face twisted to a mask of utter disgust. He stepped aside causing her to slip between his body and the cable of the trapeze only to fall from the trapeze towards the floor far below. She twisting her body mid-fall to stare up at Elias, reaching out to him, pleading with him to save her, fear etched on her sculpted features.

Elias' refused to look at her, dismissing her entirely. He would not save her. Her heart stuttered in despair and her breath left her. She closed her eyes embracing the darkness of the abyss...

And bounced lightly on the safety net below.

"Fabulous," Magnus cheered enthusiastically, clapping like a proud teacher. "Do that again for the show this weekend and I'll buy you a beer."

"I'm not twenty-one yet," Clary joked as she sat up on the net, untangling herself and giggling. She loved the freedom of free fall. It always gave her an adrenaline rush that left her shaking and giddy.

"No, but your eighteen. That's close enough," Magnus replied easily, winking for good measure.

Clary laughed and clamored over the net to the ladder, trying to control her shaking as her arms and legs tingled with energy. She could run a marathon right now or fly on invisible wings. Or just fly without wings. She had finally nailed the maneuver. It had taken her quite a few tries to grab Elias' hand on queue resulting in watching him fall into this very net. It had been a frustrating few weeks during the choreography stage.

"Elias!" Ragnor hollered over the noise of the hell week practice. "Try glaring at Clary when she falls next time but look away when she turns to you. Make it clear you're dismissing her. Remember, she cheated on you so your killing her. She means nothing to you anymore."

Elias nodded and waved. "Got it."

Magnus skipped up to his cute little protégé and held out his arms for Clary to hop in. He was ready for all of Clary's lightweight energetic self to launch at him and hook her legs around his waist. He hugged her tight and spun her around laughing with joy. He was so proud of her. This was what he had seen in her when she had first come to them two years ago. She had grown in skill and prowess. This would be her debut as a main character. If she passed the test, which he knew she would, then the plan was for her to co-star with him in their next performance.

"So," he said, finally setting her back on the ground and stepping back to look at her. There was a flush in her pale cheeks and her moss eyes glowed with joy. "How do you feel? This is your first main part since you joined out little family. And first death, I might add. So dramatic."

"Dying is a glorious thing indeed," Clary sang with a theatrical sigh. "I don't think I've ever died with such elegance before."

"Believe me," Magnus said, leaning close as if to share a secret but not bothering to lower his voice, "it's not as hyped up as every makes it out to be. You die once, you've died once. I'll make sure to resurrect you each time. Wouldn't do to stay dead. Burial is a pain in the butt."

"Not to mention expensive," Ragnor chimed in. He ignored Magnus' eye roll in favor of smiling at Clary. "Well done. Just remember your queue to fall and you'll land perfectly in the net below stage." Clary nodded. "Don't want our newest member to break a leg on her first big performance as a main, now do we?" he teased.

Clary pretended to think it over. "I don't know," she said. "I'd be more memorable."

Ragnor's eyes widened in horror. "I won't have any memorable incidents like that in this troupe," he declared. "Not on my watch." He turned back to the other acrobats on the set. "Alright everyone, take a break," he called. "We'll meet back here at two sharp to run the forty thieves segment once more straight through. Then we'll do the whole show from the top. Hopefully, we'll get through this before ten tonight so you can all go home and get a good night's sleep."

"I don't remember the last time I had a good night's sleep," a voice said from behind Ragnor, startling him so badly he hopped and squealed pathetically. Magnus threw his head and howled with laughter while the culprit responsible for the hubbub merely smirked. "Really Rags?" the dark skinned woman said. "You still can't hear me coming? Even after all these years?" She sighed loudly as Ragnor attempted to recover his dignity. "I'm so disappointed."

She turned to Clary and pulled her into a hug. "Well done, Clarissa," she said. "I'm so proud of you sweetie."

"Thanks Cat," Clary said. "Magnus and I were just discussing the pros and cons of dying. You have an opinion? Yay or nay?"

"Really?" Catarina said glancing at her still cackling friend. She huffed. "Well, I suppose a pro would be that it only happens once. Usually," she added as an afterthought. "Hopefully."

"Catarina Loss, do not encourage them," Ragnor begged. "Be the adult here, please."

"A con would be that it's a bit permanent," Catarina continued, pretending Ragnor wasn't there. She flipped her long black braids over her shoulder. Well aware that doing so meant they smacked Ragnor squarely in the face. "Also," she added over her companions' giggling, ,"no more trampolines." Her face collapsed in a mask of despair. "Now that would be a tragedy indeed."

"Yes, yes, tragedy my ass," Ragnor drawled, scratching his nose to remove the sensation of hair and hair oils from it. "Would you lot care to continue this morbid and no doubt fascinating conversation somewhere else?"

"I believe the word you meant was 'mortis,' dear Rags," Magnus said, fighting hard to maintain a straight face.

Ragnor did not dignify that particular interjection with a response, aside from a rather patronizing glare. "I may have been worded that a suggestion, but I think you all know an order when you hear one," he said. "As much as I love you all, I have better things to do then discuss death. Particularly when the subject is so...meh."

"Meh?" Clary mimicked, sticking out her tongue to emphasize her point.

"Yes," Ragnor replied haughtily. "Meh. Honestly, don't you young people ever talk about something more enjoyable?"

"Like what?" Clary demanded, crossing her arms and leaning her weight on her hip. Magnus copied her pose so they were mirror reflections of each other. Catarina snorted and stuck her face between her friends' and rested her chin on their touching shoulder making it difficult for the three of them not to devolve into laughter.

"Like, well, you know, um." Ragnor shifted awkwardly, struggling for words. "Cat videos?" he offered weakly.

Magnus quickly covered his mouth with his hand and hurried away but not before his laughter was heard ringing through the stage. Ragnor's face turned thunderous. "Magnus Bane!" he hollered. "Control yourself or I will drag you to my office and spank the living daylights out of you."

"Oh Ragnor," Magnus said, pausing in his flight to lean on a nearby support pole suggestively. He glanced over his shoulder with a sultry grin. "I had no idea you were interested in me that way." He looped a leg around the pole and winked. "All you ever had to do was ask."

Ragnor's face burned bright red as he sputtered and stuttered in annoyed amusement. His companions were nowhere near as subtle. Clary was beside herself with laughter. She actually ended up clutching her now cramping side and leaning on Catarina heavily who was herself guffawing loudly. Even the usually morose Elias had a smile on his face as he climbed down the ladder from the trapeze platform far above and joined them.

"You walked right into that one, you know," Elias said with a sympathetic look to his director.

Ragnor huffed, straightened his shirt collar and marched off to his office, muttering under his breath the whole way.

"Well, the old man got one thing right," Catarina said. "I need a good cup of coffee or I swear I'm going to collapse. Care to join me?"

Clary's smile drooped. "I can't actually," she said. "I'm going to take a nap instead. I have the closing shift again tonight."

Catarina clucked and shook her head. "As much as I understand the need for money, they sure work you like a dog over there," she said. "You take care then. I'll send Magnus to come wake you when we're ready to start back."

"Thanks," Clary said and hurried off to the lounge in the girl's locker room.

"She's improved," Elias said, watching his young costar leave. "Faster than I thought she would."

"She does have a habit of being an overachiever," Catarina agreed. Her dark almond shaped eyes watched with a sigh Clary's long ginger ponytail bounced gaily as she moved. "How's the financial situation?" she asked softly.

Elias pressed his lips together in a thin line. "Magnus is handling it," he said, glancing around furtively for potential eavesdroppers.

"Elias," Catarina said. Her gaze was gentle but stern.

The young acrobat sighed in defeat. "The sales have dropped drastically," he said slowly. "We'll barely break even."

Catarina's gaze softened and she nodded sadly. "Does Magnus know?" she asked.

Elias nodded. "Yeah. At this rate, another performance after this may not be financially feasible. We're already being paid minimum wage. Most of us have side jobs, like Clary, but if we still aren't able to make ends meet I..." He shrugged. "I think people will start leaving."

Catarina nodded. She understood but it still broke her heart. Magnus didn't deserve this. He had poured his heart and soul into the Company. It was his home, his family. If he lost it, Catarina wasn't sure he would survive the shock.

* * *

There were a couple futons set up for the exhausted performers and techies to snag a quick snap or two on. Two of the four were already occupied when Clary arrived. She untied and kicked off her shoes and rolled up her leggings, sighing in relief when the cooler air finally touched her skin. Then she collapsed limply on the nearest empty futon so her face buried itself in the cushion with a grunt. A soft chuckle echoed from one of the two occupied which she ignored in favor of sinking comfortably into the cushion.

Something cold and wet clonked solidly on her back, startling her. She bolted up knocking whatever it was onto the cushion next to her. A tired laugh escaped her when she recognized the item as a water bottle. She unscrewed the top and gulped down the blessed liquid in relief. It tasted amazing and it was almost empty when she finally felt satisfied.

"Thirsty much?"

Clary flushed from more then exertion and tossed the mostly empty back over to the other person's waiting hand. "Sorry 'bout that," she said, settling back down on the futon so her head rested on her folded arms.

"No worries," the guy Clary now recognized as Alaric said with a grin. He yawned and shifted to a more comfortable position. "Taking advantage of downtime when you get it. Sounds good to me."

She smiled and allowed her eyes to close. She had to get enough sleep to be ready for rehearsal this afternoon, pull her shift at the campus library until one in the morning, then crash hard. Hell week was always horrid on her sleep schedule. Not that she actually had a sleep schedule but that was beside the point. It was hard juggling a college, her acrobatics, and her job.

Her only saving grace was that her job was an on-campus job that was well aware of her student status so they could work around her schedule, within reason of course. She usually worked the night shifts at the library because no one else wanted them. Most people who came to the library that late were there to sleep or study anyway so they didn't make a ruckus. Clary would simply sit at one of the three employee computers scattered across the first floor of the library waiting for someone to come up and ask for help with one of the public use computers, the printer, where to find a book, or to rent some dry erase markers for the white boards.

The library had become her haven lately. It was open twenty-four hours early Monday morning through late Friday evening then only staying open from nine to nine on Saturday and ten to six on Sunday. When it came time for Final Exams, the library was open twenty-four hours straight through the week. Students used the first floor for group study session in the cubicles made of dry erase boards and chairs, use one of the several rows of computers, or grab a cup of coffee from the mini Java Script café right by the entrance and chill. The second floor was the study floor. Study rooms filled the majority of the floor leaving the rest of the space to the scattered tables and chairs. Only whispering was allowed on that floor.

The third floor was a blessing Clary would never cease to enjoy. It was the quiet floor; not talking or whispering whatsoever unless you wanted to be glared into oblivion by the other studious occupants in the vicinity. There were study rooms on that floor too but they were mostly used by the hardcore studiers who all but lived in the library. Study groups tended to stick to the second floor where the bigger rooms were while the study rooms on the third floor were typically occupied by individuals or duos.

The third floor had become Clary's escape. She did almost everything there including sleep. She used the study room as a quiet place to meditate, study, and sleep. She had originally opted to live off campus with the Downworlders Company but they all lived in a little community of tiny homes by the stage and with so many people in such close proximity, it was quite simply too loud.

Also the wifi there sucked and homework these days required a good wifi connection so she had to find an alternative. It was too late to sign up for student housing, either on campus or off, and she refused to live at her mother's. She loved her mom to pieces but quite frankly she wanted to be independent. So she had all but taken up residence at the campus library.

She knew she wasn't the only student to do so. There were at least three other students who had picked up the same habit for various reasons. They were all aware of each other and kept their secret.

On the weekends when the library was closed or if she was sick and tired of the place, which happened sometimes, she would crash at Magnus's flat near the center of their little waterfront town. It was only a block or two from her mom's quaint little place near the edge of town. Magnus' place owned the whole building he lived in from his aunt's will or something like that but stuck to the top floor. He had the first floor converted to a café so a small, local start-up business could attempt to get a foothold in the community. He waved their rent until they were on their feet and now only charged the minimum.

That little café was now the thriving Java Script which now enjoyed its newest café location in the college campus. Thus, the circle went round. The community supported the school and the acrobats of the Imaginarium stage, the Imaginarium supported the community by provided internships and experience to the students of the college and entertainment to the attendees, and the college brought people from farther out into their community and encouraged an open exchange of learning and talent. Cape Idris thrived on this circle.

Cape Idris was Clary's home. It was the Downworlds' home. It was the Cape Idris Institute of Arts and Science's home. This little town had always been their home. It was nowhere near perfect. No New England town was. But it was certainly close. Clary's loved it all the same. Too bad it wouldn't last.

"Wake up lazy bones!" Raphael's voice hollered into the room, jolting her and Alaric awake. The other sleeper must have woken up and left before Raphael's loud arrival.

Clary was too surprised to laugh at Alaric who flailed and flopped onto the floor in his surprise. She pushed herself up to see Raphael smiling at Alaric's mishap without shame. He grinned at her and said, "Get up sleeping beauty." Clary gave him an unimpressed look which he disregarded like water off a duck's back. "We're doing another run through. Sleep later work now. All of you," he added specifically at poor Alaric who was now glaring at him.

"You're evil," Alaric grumbled.

Raphael winked. "At least I don't snore like a wolf's growl," he jabbed.

"Vampire," Alaric sniped.

"Puppy," Raphael shot back before vanishing out the door and down the hall back to the stage.

Clary gave Alaric a sympathetic smile. "Come on," she said. "Let's head out before they send Cat."

Alaric groaned but stood and stretched. "I'm up," he muttered, yawning and scratching his head as he followed Clary out of the room. "I'm up."


End file.
